hømetøwn

• : / eleven / : •

The bustle of the city buzzed in my ears as we stepped out of Brendon's apartment. Horns blared, jagged voices cut through the air, and pedestrians scrambled across the street, shaking their fists. Brendon slid his hand into mine. I glanced at him, eyes widening.

He lowered his gaze, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Uh, for safety."

"Safety?"

"Y-Yeah. We wouldn't want to get mugged, now, would we? And no one in their right mind would come at someone who was with me."

I couldn't help smiling. I gave his hand a squeeze. "You've got a reputation or something?"

"Hey, I didn't choose the thug life, the thug life chose --"

"Oh, save it. You're not a thug, you're a dork who likes chicken nuggets."

"Yeah, okay, but I'm your dork who likes chicken nuggets."

My hand stiffened. I looked up at him and our eyes briefly met. The air between us felt alive -- bright charged static that quivered in suspense.

"Are you?" I whispered.

He lowered his gaze. "Lake, I was just...you know..."

My face felt hot as I watched him struggle to gather his thoughts.

"...For the protection thing. We're not...obviously we aren't..." His smile was gone now, replaced with a confused, torn expression that made my insides ache. He paused for a long moment, his eyes fixed on something far down the road. "We've talked about this."

I looked away. "Yeah."

"I don't guess you would ever...I mean...I..." He licked his lips. "Lake, your hands are so cold."

"They're always like that," I said.

His hand tightened around mine. It was blazing with heat. His warmth seeped into my skin.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll unfreeze you."

He led me down a crosswalk, flipping off a driver who honked at us. His presence cast a sense of security over me. Yeah, Brendon was definitely no thug. But there was something about him that made me feel safer. Every few seconds I risked a glance at him. I was surprised how often he was already looking at me.

"I used to work there," said Brendon, nodding to a smoothie shop. "Making smoothies and shit. I used to sing to people for tips."

"Can we go in?"

"Hell no. I've made it a life goal to never have to go into that place again."

"What a disappointment."

"Yeah, disappointing people. That's the only thing I'm really good at," he said. Maybe it was supposed to be a joke -- though it didn't touch his eyes, he smiled, and gave my hand a squeeze.

A thousand responses surged through my mind:

Tell me you're kidding.

You're not a disappointment. You're amazing. You're good at literally everything.

Brendon, you might think you disappoint everyone, but you haven't disappointed me yet.

Shut your mouth and kiss me.

I didn't say any of them.

I just forced a laugh. Played along. Pretended not to notice the way his eyes suddenly looked so heavy.

We walked for another few minutes in silence, then I looked around and said, "Hey, where are we?"

Brendon stopped. His head tilted to one side as his gaze swept the street. "Uh..."